


What a King Will Do

by ReduxCath



Category: Dragalia Lost (Video Game), Fire Emblem Heroes, Fire Emblem Series
Genre: M/M, Marth is self-sacrificing in an extreme way, Non-Consensual, Rough Sex, The 'dead dove' tag is prob too much for this fic, Volk is a freak, but this isnt usual jam either, toxic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:13:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26424664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReduxCath/pseuds/ReduxCath
Summary: Some peeps in the DL Discord a while back were like "Yo write a Marth/Volk fic" and I wanted to do something that didn't just drench their characters in sugar. Volk corners a party sent to subdue him, and Marth employs a different strategy to win on his own when everyone else is out of commission.War isn't just done with swords and knives.Warning: this is not happy, energetic sex. Sex is already 18+ content, know that you're about to read Marth 'submitting' to a bad guy to survive and find an opening.
Relationships: Volk/Marth
Kudos: 22





	What a King Will Do

**Author's Note:**

> Must be said: not my usual jam. It was interesting to write this, but if I write something else with the Agito characters as the central ship, it'll not be as critical of a situation. And, just to make sure, rape isn't good, and irl rapists and abusers should not be glorified or excused in any way. I wanted to use this fanfic to explore the ideas of power in feudal systems, especially those where magic and power can be concentrated in specific individuals as well as whole armies, and how that might shape attitudes surrounding war and appropriate fighting age.
> 
> In a sense, this also serves as a character study for Marth and Volk too.

“I...My head’s getting all woozy…”

“Shhh, it’s ok.” Marth gently put his shoulders around Lowen and smiled. “I’ll beat this guy up, and we can all go home together, ok?”

“Uh huh…” A tired nod…and with that, the Prince of Altea carried the tired, unconscious body of the party’s healer, and turned to face the demon before him.

The wolf smiled, miasma dripping from its jaws. “Will you fight with a child on your back, Foreigner? Kekekeke…” The glee in those golden eyes sent a chill up Marth’s spine, but he stood firm. “If you put your holy sword in your mouth, you might be able to keep striking, who knows?”

“I assume that would please you, wouldn’t it?” He raised an eyebrow, clutched Lowen close.

“And what do _you_ know of what pleases me?”

Marth thought, considered his words for a single moment. The wolves that had torn the boy’s cape, that had bit Joe’s arm and had struck Ezelith into the ground, were all circling him, hunger burning in their eyes, their sick, acidic spit slowly burning circles around him as they paced.

This battle had not gone as planned.

_Not at all._

“…” Years of diplomacy ran through the Altean’s mind like a book’s pages being hustled by a strong winter wind. Strategies for speech inflection, psychological research, war theory, criminology—it all condensed itself at once. After joining Prince Euden, Marth had taken a back seat in the directing of political affairs, serving as a point of reference for the younger royal, but more often helping the likes of Ranzal direct His Majesty’s army against the dark might of Dyrenell, or joining the fray himself as the famous Hero-King. Now, he had to don the more complicated hat of statesman if he and his friends were to survive this day.

But those who assumed a politician could not understand the grievances of the poor were either close-minded, or bad politicians in themselves. “I propose a wager. Let me reserve an area of this arena for their bodies, so that we may fight unencumbered.”

The wolf cackled. “Ah, the man thinks he’s in a position to _bargain!_ ” Volk threw his head back and snickered sickeningly—then stopped suddenly, lowered his head, and spat on the ground. The rocks sizzled where the liquid hit them. “Tell me, do you truly believe I care about things like honor? That I would let you fight without your current baggage?”

Marth looked him in the eyes. “If you aren’t afraid that the Fang of the Fangless could not defeat one as privileged as I without this handicap…” He shrugged. Chances were good that Volk was the kind who would rise to a challenge. If he could just exploit that fault of character—

“…” Volk narrowed his eyes. “To defeat those of privilege, one must make every possible move. It is the only way to truly oppose the entrenched systems of oppression that give rise to men like _you_.” The wolf knew who he was, surely. He knew that he was as much a royal as Euden, as much a stateman as Ranzal. Marth was, for all intents and purposes, exactly what he hated most.

“Then—let me spin this another way.” He tried again. This wasn’t good. If Volk didn’t bite, they would all die. Spin the chessboard. Sweeten the deal. “If you meet me in single combat and win, I shall desert the Halidom. I shall join Agito and fight for all you stand for.”

Volk guffawed, and the wolves around Marth wheezed with laughter. “You—you would give _us_ your _loyalty?!_ So hired swords also _bend_!!” The wolf dashed forward and pushed his muzzle against Lowen’s cheek—until Marth, with a strong grasp at his chin, pulled it up so that it was touching him instead. The wolf was unperturbed by the strong contact. “I thought you all loved your blonde Little Prince, no?”

“I do love him. He is a ray of light for the future of this world….” Using a perfect, iron-clad poker face, Marth rolled his eyes. “But if we fall to you at this stage, perhaps that judgement is mistaken. If we, elite flame warriors, came unprepared to deal with you, it is simply because Euden lacks the foresight needed to become that very ray of light.”

These were words that had been thrown at the Altean before. Arrows that always tried to hit at the core of good ideals. One of Euden’s siblings had said something almost exactly like this to him, so to Volk, this should fall in line with his intel on the Prince. Sprinkling grains of truth on bluffs and plays always makes them go down easier.

The wolf smiled, and Marth had to steel himself against that disgusting breath that came out from the gaps between his teeth. “…You’re so cold. Those are the eyes of a man who has seen _some shit_.” He licked his lips—of all the things he could’ve done. Though he _was_ completely right. In all his years of leading and fighting, Marth had seen the pinnacles of good and evil. He had reached a peak in the eternal mountain that Euden would only be able to dream of for several years, as _his_ climb was just beginning.

“I love it.” The wolf suddenly licked at his cheek, the spit almost _too_ hot for his skin. His inner thoughts shattered from the shock, and he had to fight to remain still.

Marth bared his teeth to steel himself, and to get the other man to back away. “I simply do not want to waste my time. I am separated from my loved ones in this world. There is nothing to truly bind me anywhere.”

Volk considered it. He considered that proposition as his wolves drew ever closer to Marth. They were so close now that they were starting to bite and nip at his legs, groin, and rump—though, the Altean noticed, not Lowen’s little feet. Marth took the abuse, the high-temperature nibbles, as he pulsed mana repeatedly to try and get rid of this disgusting plague that was infiltrating his body.

Volk could easily kill him here. He was already handicapped with Lowen—and he had been afflicted with several layers of the man’s plague.

Marth sighed slowly, never breaking eye contact.

Sometimes, the core of diplomacy was just making a move and seeing what it brought.

…And if Euden really _did_ lose them all here, in a sense it _was_ a deserved outcome.

As one wolf began to toy with his zipper while another took a particular interest in the space between the back of his thighs—causing the stoic Altean to grit his teeth and ignore the redness on his cheeks—Volk licked his face again. The swordsman pushed him away with his nose. “Either kill me where I stand, or fight me like a man. But _stop_ this mockery at once, fiend!” He had to focus so as not to grip his hands and hurt Lowen. What the hell was this bastard plotting?!

“But this is part of our deal, Foreigner.” Volk licked again. And again. Marth could do nothing except stand still—or else his fire mana would engulf him due to the sheer ire that burned through his veins. “If I win, you will not serve Agito. No no no, those fools are not to ever be trusted completely.” _Intel._ New intel. The Agito did not have complete unity? This was a detail that he would remember no matter what. Euden _needed_ to find a way to exploit this. The wolf continued to speak, now behind him, as he grabbed his hips and licked at the back of his neck. “You will serve _me_.”

“….” A pause. A practiced sigh. “…So you’re that kind of person.”

“Ohhh!! Is your land not fond of homosexuals?! How _sinful_ I am, then!”

Ignore that—ignore that. “That is not one of our traits.” Marth shook his head, eyes closed, grounding himself, acclimating to the feeling of those disgusting claws on his hips. “I did not mean that specifically.”

“No matter. These are my terms.” Those claws on his hips dug past his clothes, and threatened to break his skin while the wolves kept on biting, licking—and smelling past the opening of his zipper to his hardening cock. Marth willed himself not to tremble at the attention, and Volk reached around—

—putting a claw so very near Lowen’s tired face. “…unless…you offer me dinner instead?”

“You _cur!_ ” Marth whipped around quickly and jumped back—Volk’s claws caught on his skin and tore, but that didn’t matter. He needed to get Lowen _away_ from this freak, no matter what. He didn’t even register the pain—that’s how angry he felt. “Stop bothering the boy!”

Volk cocked his head, feigning innocence. The look was not at all convincing in his animal form. “But he is a child soldier, is he not? Oh, sure, he was rescued from that Dragon’s misconceptions—” He shrugged, and Marth felt a chill run up his spine. How much did he know about Lowen? About _all_ of them? In the back of his mind, he kept making notes, desperate for any kernel that might save people’s lives in the future. “—but if he’s not to be ‘bothered’, why did he point his staff at me?”

“….” Marth bit his lip. “…Those with talent are cursed to use it in this world, or else be forced to by someone else.” As it was in his own world. Anyone who displayed talent or skill in the art of war would have to raise their hands sooner or later. It was a simple arms race, after all. Why not give a child a wand if they can boil a lake or freeze a corn field? Dyrenell was doing it. _The other side_ always did it. “That is a truth of war.”

The wolf hissed softly through his teeth, as though thinking. Marth repressed his urge to run away. If he turned his back now, he knew, somehow in the depths of his heart, that he _would_ meet his end. Finally, Volk held up his claws. “Do you accept, then? To save him? To save the other two?”

Wolves were smelling at the unconscious frames of Ezelith and Joe.

And Marth walked towards them, making sure to stand tall as he did so. “Give me a moment to set them all down.”

Marth expected more jeers. More taunts.

But the wolf let him work in relative quiet.

When all three of the fallen adventurers were gathered in a corner of the space, he turned, and swiped his sword in the air. “None of our attacks may reach past this radius.” He quickly flipped in the air and drew a circle around them. “If they do, our deal is off.”

Volk cocked his head…

…and snapped his fingers.

Before he could react, Lowen, Joe, and Ezelith were hauled up in cages, hanging above the battle arena—far above into that darkness.

Marth’s mana couldn’t be contained any more. It spilled messily into his blade and bubbled out at the tip, red-hot and blazing. “What are you _doing?!”_

 _“_ Foreigner, do you honestly expect either of us to be able to respect that measly boundary? Your companions would burn away before you would’ve realized your mistake.” Volk clicked his nails on the ground, making old spell lines react and crackle with energy as he fed them. “Now we won’t have to hold back so much. You should _thank_ me for actually making this a fair fight.”

Marth’s mana cooled at the tip of his sword—but it continued to burn hot throughout the blade.

…As is honorable, he bowed. “You are correct. Thank you.” In his haste to buy them a few more seconds, and in his discomfort with the other man, Marth had acted blindly. Volk’s modification—though rough and uncomfortable—truly did afford him the fair duel he had sought.

This confirmed two things:

First, Volk either had some semblance of honor, or wanted to enjoy stripping him like cattle. Either way, this could be exploited.

Second, Marth was psychologically unbalanced at the moment.

He took a deep breath, and slowly readied himself. The Altean needed to calm down. He needed to think. Individual fights are not wars. Individual fights are more flexible and open to influence—and most of all, to _intelligence._ If he did not calm down, open his mind, and try to see every possible angle, he would be defeated.

Those three up there were counting on him.

As were their friends and loved ones.

He would not disappoint them. He would not cause another house to feel the heartache of separation! His muscles rippled under his clothes as he lunged forward. “Now, come at me!!”

“Hahahaha!! Fine, _have_ your fight!” Volk spat, and his wolves began to zoom around the arena, too fast for the usual naked eye to see. “You’re going to regret extending your suffering… ”

The diseased one sprung forth. “…Because I’m going to tear you apart!!”

_Everyone, please watch me._

Marth’s sword clattered to the ground, a single thread of mana connecting his hand to the blade. Before he could fall forward, a hand—human in shape—held him back, and lifted him up by the scruff of his tunic.

Volk’s human eyes sparkled in wicked glee. “Ah…how beautiful is the face of one who has so much left to lose…”

The Altean clicked his tongue. So he was being called out for his bluff? No matter. Any indignity was worth suffering through for the sake of his friends—in any world. “…Get on with—”

Marth was unable to finish his sentence. Volk had pushed him into the ground, and the wolves materialized again. They tore away Marth’s clothes, bit at his exposed skin, licked the wounds, and covered him in shallow bites as Volk surveyed their work. Teasing. Playing. Mocking—because they could. “How shameful for a privileged one such as you.” He was referring to the terrible hardness that was unyielding in between Marth’s legs. “Oh, but you said your kingdom is like ours, isn’t it? That means that you might enjoy this type of treatment…” Volk stepped on his dick, and applied enough pressure for Marth to grunt out. “Either way, it’s so shameful—that you are so consumed by desire.”

“You don’t know me as well as you think you do.” Was all he said.

“Ah, do I not?”

A wolf was about to bite at his neck—

And Marth expertly hit its throat, causing the magical construction to scamper off.

Volk’s eyes spoke of mirth—but a quiet rage burned behind them as he dismissed his creations. “You are so…”

His hand went to his mask…

…and took it off, revealing a row of pointed teeth and chapped, cracked lips. “…irremissible.”

“What, are you gonna bite me too?” He asked, feeling a little cheeky, despite of the circumstances. If he was going to have his throbbing manhood exposed, he might as well—

A kick—right to his cheek.

Marth was pushed back by the force. His naked back hurt as it skidded slightly across the uneven stone floor. And before he could speak out, his hair was roughly grabbed, and his face was smashed against leather pants. “The defeated have no rights. No will. No freedom. _Remember?_ ” A low chuckle, and Marth could feel a pulsing hardness behind the fabric. He gulped, and looked up with hatred at Volk, who licked his chapped, pale lips. “Come on. Drag it down. Expose me with your teeth.”

The taste of the iron of Volk’s zipper made Marth’s lips pull back in grimace, but he nevertheless did as he was told.

He _had_ lost, after all—at least, that was what Volk had said.

And slowly, with enough reluctance, he dragged the zipper down—and an impatient Volk took one hand and ripped his own pants open, the button flying away violently as his thick, leaking cock sprung out. Just like Marth—circumcised.

“How’s it smell? Disgusting, I bet.” Volk pushed his dick onto Marth’s face, and rubbed the precum on his chin.

“Oddly enough, smells better than the rest of you—”

“ _Shhhh,_ just shut _up_ for a second there.” Volk had filled his mouth roughly, and was enjoying the privilege—the _honor_ —of face fucking the Altean Hero-King. Marth quickly shifted his breathing towards his nose, and growled as his nostrils were pushed to the base where a sparse dusting of green hair attempted to grow. “Ffffffuck, you filthy rich bastards sure do have good mouths…” An excited gasp, a shiver, and more rough, jerky movements from his hips. Volk gripped the back of Marth’s head harder and didn’t seem to care about the occasional brush against Marth’s teeth. “Must be all that….food you pigs eat…All that wine…”

Wine?

What Marth wouldn’t give for some wine right now, to wash away this taste.

The only _good_ thing about all this was that he could suck as roughly and selfishly as he wanted. It seemed that pain would not be a huge deterrent here.

He wouldn’t go too far, of course. Volk still held his spear with his other hand—was currently drawing loops across his chest with that razor-sharp tip.

…but this _was_ a rush, wasn’t it?

Marth bobbed his head up and down, angled himself so he could work with the sharp curve of this brigand’s throbbing dick. Slowly, he pulsed mana throughout his body, establishing only the slightest of reinforcements on the single, invisible thread that connected his palm to his sword. But both his palms were also being used to pull at Volk’s ballsack, so he was very careful. Some of Marth’s friends whom he had shared pleasures like this enjoyed the occasional tug, a bit of a toe-dip into the realm of pain.

Volk was blowing all of them out of the water in this respect.

“Fucking HARDER!!” A rough hand grasped at his hair, and the plague master began to pound at his throat. Marth fought to not gag—and failed. In his frustration, he dug his nails into Volks’ thighs, and growled at the presence of his pants. “You rich bastards talk all day about _taxes_ and _resources_ —but your mouths serve a much higher purpose like _this?! Don’t?! They?!”_ With every inflection and pause, Volk hit the back of Marth’s throat.

The Altean could not speak, but he did roll his eyes.

That got him another bit of shoe on his own cock.

And he broke bravado here.

It _did_ feel shameful that he was so hard in this situation. It _did_ feel embarrassing that this man was able to get him to leak as much as he was. The only saving grace of this situation was that _no one_ was here to see what was happening. Not Prince Euden, not Prince Alfonse, nor Princess Sharena, nor Tiki, nor Veronica—“Yeah, you like my fucking boots on your cock, little man?!!”

Marth’s head was dragged off Volk’s cock, and a thick line of spit connected him to that hot tool. He coughed, and looked away. “T-This means nothing.”

A pleased sound from Volk, one where Marth could _hear_ him smile gleefully down at him. “Doesn’t it?” With his boot, he pushed Marth onto the ground and stepped on his chest. There were no more wolves on the field—but that didn’t matter. Volk’s eyes, his morbid fascination with Marth, held all their ferocity, concentrated into one sour being. It chilled him. “You think of yourself as _such_ a paragon of virtue and might…” Volk dragged the tip of his sole down across the Altean’s scarred, bruised chest as he spoke. “…but you’re all the same. Wealth and power bring decadence, which invites a corrupted spirit.”

When Volk’s boot reached Marth’s leaking cock head again, the Altean croaked out. “So…all lords are perverts, according to you?” It made sense from his perspective. To Volk, the rich were by definition a class that could _only_ be a negative influence on the world. And that, of course, would lead one to assume that higher class peoples all drowned themselves in debaucheries of every type. But like all of Volk’s critiques on the wealthy—and his analysis of wealth disparity and socioeconomic forces as a whole—there was a huge problem. A very big (and leaking) logic error. “What is that cock of yours, then? Are you not as excited as I am?”

“My manhood is but another expression of my power…” At that, Marth had to bite back the urge to roll his eyes, for he doubted he could remain conscious if he got another one of those kicks. He was already seeing stars at the edge of his vision. He needed to regain his health, even if only slightly. Volk kept on talking, as he tended to do, and jerked his cock like he was proud of it—all the while increasing the pressure on Marth’s cock. “…and with this, I present the second spear that will subjugate the rich and privileged.”

“Ngh!!” Marth would not ejaculate—he would _not._ Not to this bastard—

Volk’s mirthful giggles accentuated his shameful release, and he desperately fought to retain some of the mana before it exited the boundary of his body through his semen.

Not a lot was salvaged.

“With this spear, I will tear away the mask of society and expose you bastards for the _pigs_ that you are.” Volk leaned down, used his claws to leave behind four lines on Marth’s skin as he scooped a bit of his semen—and licked it off his digits. The way he did it was so erotic, that even in this fucked situation, the Altean Prince felt desire stir in his loins once more. “I’ll parade your sweaty body in the streets, and suck away all the misplaced confidence the fools place in your little Euden.”

“…So _that’s_ your plan.”

Marth could see it in his mind. Volk dragging him down town squares, making his cock stand at attention while onlookers gasped and pointed and remembered that he was the Hero-King who allied himself with the Rebellious Prince. The great foreign hero, reduced to a state like that?

If it didn’t destroy the Halidom’s reputation, it would drown it in a mire of embarrassing rumors.

Volk chuckled lowly as his sharp teeth grazed Marth’s collar bone. “Does that bother you? Is it painful? Does it sting?”

Marth whipped his head and smashed his forehead on Volk’s. The plaguebringer did not flinch back, but his eyes did go wide. “You talk too much.”

Volk responded by pushing him down by clasping a hand around his neck. Marth gasped, fought for breath, and felt his cock shamefully rise once more. Fuck, why did this feel so _good?_ This humiliation? Volk used his other hand to push Marth’s legs open, and rubbed his throbbing cock on Marth’s own tool. “Cheeky. Too cheeky. I’m going to have to correct this.” He muttered, his eyes shining with his dark intentions. “You still don’t know your place.” The man lifted his hips up slightly.

Marth looked down when he felt something hot and wet poke against his entrance. It was _obvious_ what Volk was preparing to do. The anticipation in his eyes was too bright. Too unrefined and telling. He wanted to see the pained, terrified expression on Marth’s face when his cock forcefully pushed inside of him. He wanted to see the face of a Prince bloom in agony, to use his spear to bring justice onto an oppressive class, to drag out useless apologies from an emasculated royal.

And, for a moment, Marth did consider putting on that act.

But…

But when Volk roughly pushed himself in, Marth only gave him a rough grunt, and a defiant smile. Pain—but nothing _that_ bad. “Is that all? I could’ve sworn you were _bigger_.”

That did it, didn’t it?

“Will you SHUT UP!?” Volk choked him with both hands, let out an angry noise, and began to pump wildly. Marth did his best, in that thick, painful pleasure, to keep as straight of a face as he could. Volk was contradictory in many ways—but this was ridiculous. He had penis envy, yet was able to push Marth _this_ far into pleasure? He hated people like Marth, yet had planned for this type of scenario in advance, and relished in it? Utterly insane. Those hands released his throat (a breath, thankful) and scratched at his chest and torso, raising red welts.

But Volk was—in all his perplexing complexity—perceptive. His raging scowl turned into a sneer. “Not so tough when you’re getting _fucked_ , are you?! You sniveling bastard.” His hips jerked, and Marth couldn’t help the gasp that came out of his mouth. Volk had to realize that he was _punching_ his prostate. “Do you want me to go slower, huh? Take my time?” He asked him in a mocking tone that let him know he was not going to get any such treatment.

“This is—nothing…!” The Altean grunted out, keeping himself grounded by squeezing one hand—the one that he didn’t attach his sword to.

“Then _why_ are you moaning like that, pig?! Admit it!! You’re just another noble who feasts and fucks on the dimes of the oppressed!!” Marth knew what he was talking about. Despite the rough fuck he was being given, he remembered faces. People who were also wealthy, who had power—but who used it to lavish themselves in carnal enjoyments, and sucked their peoples dry.

Money is a neutral force.

But it amplifies anything and everything.

So even if those people had an amount of evil in their hearts that one might consider average, their access to money allowed them to indulge in exponentially crueler forms of vice.

And the people always suffered from such selfishness.

Marth, of course, was different.

Marth would _never_ misuse the wealth of his kingdom to engage in such behaviors.

But nevertheless, he caught Volk balls-deep and distracted, off guard—and kicked him off. Both men grunted in pain as the plaguebringer was forcibly removed. And for a moment, they both lay on the ground, groaning. Volk’s curses echoed through the space. “You piece of shit!! I’m gonna fucking—”

But Marth recovered faster.

He stood, spat on the ground, and made his way to Volk, who was holding his dick and glaring up at him. With a scoff, Marth gave him a flat expression, and it was now _his_ turn to be the one stepping on the other. “How are my shoes?” He asked.

“You… _You—”_

 _“_ You’re absolutely right, Volk. You’re right.” He quickly lowered himself to the other man, and grabbed his softening cock with his non-dominant hand. “I’m just as you say—just another rich pervert.” Using a trick some of his older, more experienced partners had taught him, the Altean Prince pulsed mana into the other man’s genitals to get them excited again. But of course, in this world, mana had different flavors, and Volk hissed in great discomfort. But Marth did not care. Volk was hard, throbbing, and leaking once again. “That’s why…”

Marth smashed his hips down onto that cock, and took him to the base in one movement.

Both men gasped, and Marth grunted out. “…I need you to go faster.”

“Faster?” Volk seemed like he could not believe his ears.

“I said _faster!!_ ” Marth moved his ass up and down angrily, feeling Volk’s more impressive cock slide in and out of his wet hole. It was true. He was not as well-endowed as others. And though he could more than make up for it with magic and with every other appendage in his body, the differences in sizes was always apparent. Perhaps then, the first time an older man had compared sizes and had teased him about how he measured up, it had awakened his need for dirty talk.

Marth would be the first to admit to his smaller size.

But in the realm of homosexual relations, there were two angles, weren’t there?

It had been a long time since he’d realized he could hold power in different ways.

Volk grabbed Marth’s scarred hips and tried to get him to adopt his own rhythm. “S-Stop wiggling around, goddamit!!” And Marth, with a surge of pride, didn’t allow himself to react when Volk regained his bravado and _thrust_ into him.

“You’re never going to break me, don’t even try!!” Marth tried to pin Volk down by his wrists as he moved his strong legs—

But Volk punched him in the face, and pushed him down again. He was now pounding without mercy, and gave a laugh. “So the foreigner’s _this_ experienced, huh? I bet you’re the type that sneaks into common taverns, aren’t you?!” He _bit_ Marth’s neck, and lapped at the drops of blood that resulted. “Common dick just hits that spot good, doesn’t it, rich boy?!”

Marth locked his legs around Volk’s waist, keeping with the new crass tone. “Stop spouting shit and _do_ something!!” Volk was, of course, already doing quite a lot. But Marth egged him on further, clawed his own set of lines down Volk’s pale, knobby back.

What was this?

_Go faster, I said!!_

What _was_ this?

_Admit it, you yearn to be defiled._

As Marth humped, angled himself, and squeezed, he examined his feelings. In his chest raged a burning desire to beat this man—but that had leaked into the realm of sexuality. He wasn’t often—in fact never— someone who delved into this depth of hateful coitus, nor did he have the mindset to see sex as a competition. Sure, he had bed many men and women in his time, and all had been unique. But Marth had always seen sex as a happy activity, one to bring him closer to the people he loved and cherished.

…Perhaps, this was another lesson.

That sex could be dark as well.

And that it could be used for things like this.

Things that, deep down, made his cock flare to attention—and that even deeper down, made him have to wrestle with the darkness in his own heart.

Sex could be like this—full of bites, and curses. But more than all of that, sex that was so full of hate could feel _incredible._

And here was the danger of it all.

Marth was feeling himself sinking into the pool of pleasure in his mind—into the hot, sharp embrace of this man who would sooner see him bleed than offer him a used napkin. It felt _incredible_ , being able to push out all his pent-up aggression and hatred like this.

…And if he didn’t break free soon, he’d lose his focus completely.

That would be—

“You’re the first person who’s ever pushed me this far!” Volk’s tongue lolled out of his mouth, a wild grin on his face as he stared at Marth. “What the hell is this?! What are you making me feel?!”

Marth—who did not know what face he was making—answered. “I don’t know. I—”

He arched his back, moaned, and scratched at Volk’s back when the other man hit that amazing spot. His enemy growled in pleasure, and dug his cock deep into him, to the point where Marth’s pelvis hurt. “I—I’ve never felt like this before!! This rush, this _ecstasy!!_ ” Surely, it was due to the fact that he was subjugating someone whom he hated.

Marth reached up, grabbed Volk’s hair roughly with his non-dominant hand, and brought him down. The other man arched strangely, leaving a large gap between their chests. “You’re _insane_ if you’re—feeling good from any of this…!”

“I _am!!_ I’m _insane.”_ Volk purred, and licked a long stripe across Marth’s face. “I’m going insane, all because of your _sinful_ little body! I’m—I’m—oh, fuck—”

Marth’s non-dominant hand gripped at that hair more and more, and his dominant hand scratched angled lines at his back. “Spent already? Did I tire you out?”

Volk spat in his face. “Shut up—” He couldn’t help it. He straightened his back, arched his entire body so that his face pointed upwards, and began to moan as he gave Marth his final few thrusts.

Marth moaned with him—

\--and saw the bottoms of the cages in the air.

“Fuck—Fuck you, fuck you—I’m—”

Marth clenched his dominant hand, and the world stopped.

Volk was completely still.

And Marth held his breath.

Slowly….slowly…the plaguebringer opened his mouth. “…huh…?” With a twitching head, he slowly moved his chin, and looked down—

To the shining blade that was protruding from his chest.

“What…is… this…?”

Marth’s whole body pulsed with flame mana, and he focused all of that power to rejuvenating his tired muscles and healing his wounds. “…You said, before, that losers have no rights. You were claiming that I had already lost, and that I had needlessly extended my suffering.”

Those pink eyes twitched as they locked with Marth’s. “You—All this time—”

“But Volk, _you_ made the mistake of assuming our fight had ended at all.” From the moment that Marth had let go of his sword, he had wrapped a single thread of mana around the hilt. He had kept that thread alive and active—though just faint enough that Volk wouldn’t feel it in his frenzied sexual state. Throughout that _degrading_ experience, Marth had kept the thread of mana alive, and when he had started to scratch the man’s back, he had actually been weaving commands to lift the sword, and charge it with enough power to send it flying. “To defeat evil people, we have to make use of _every_ strategy, right?” His voice, Marth noticed, was cold as he described his plan.

It had been a difficult task, requiring precise mana control and _tremendous_ focus.

That was why he had been so terrified of his pleasure. If he had lost himself at all, the sword would’ve fallen onto the ground, and Volk would’ve noticed.

He would’ve called his wolves again, and used them to rip Marth apart.

And that’s why—that’s why he—“You’ll never beat us. We’ll never fall to you and your tricks. And you’ll _never_ lay your hands on my friends.” He fixed him with his glare, voice hot once more. “ _Ever.”_

“You…”

“…This fight is over.”

Marth did not say _this is the end._

He did not say _I win._

…After all...

“…You’re _twisted._ ” Red, shining blood dripped down from the bottom of Volk’s wound, as the blade had angled itself to rip from the bottom-up first. But at the top, there was no blood soaking the blade. In fact, the blood had quickly stemmed itself. Around the shining sword, Marth saw it. A strangely fuzzy, blurry outline that had the same color as the miasma.

Volk…had not spent himself. But he withdrew, completely limp.

With shaking legs, the man wobbled away, coughing. Marth leaned to the side, and slowly tried to stand up. “I shouldn’t have…underestimated you…” Marth watched as the tired plaguebringer wheezed, walked to the center of the stage, and looked up. “…Just like all the rest. You always have a trick up your sleeve. Always something your cash can buy at the last moment….”

“It’s…”

Volk tilted his head back, and Marth resisted the urge to flinch at that horrible expression. “Irremissible?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

Surprise.

Then—something—, and Volk covered his eyes and laughed as his body began to dissipate. That laugh sounded so bitter, so pained, and so full of hate. “Aaaahh…I fucked up…”

This…

…did not feel like a victory.

Marth crumpled on the ground, let himself gasp, tremble for a few good seconds. Best to push the trauma out of the way now. Push out the surface, deal with the rest later, back home. Back inside of the protective walls of a castle. That was the only way to do things. He could only ever afford to be weak after a battle. After leaving a battle field.

…So, even though this allowance was for only a few seconds, and even though it was not at all enough to let himself recover from this ordeal, the Altean Prince slowly stood up, and sighed. A moment of silence followed where he picked up his sword, and held it in his hand.

…Fine.

Slowly, slowly, he rejuvenated his body with slow, practiced pulses of mana.

Enough for him to jump to the lowering cages.

What struck him wasn’t that Ezelith and Lowen were still unconscious—but that Joe was very much awake. When he saw the Prince, the archer nodded silently and moved towards the door of the cage. Marth could not hide the shock on his face. “How—How long—”

“Let’s gettem down, first.”

The Shroud gave way to a dense and lonely forest.

And so, with a trembling heart, Marth helped Joe to do just that.

“…So that’s what happened, huh?” Joe had woken up around the middle of his one-on-one fight with Volk. Had wanted to help, but had been too weak to even hold his bow. He had remained awake throughout Volk’s ‘victroy’, throughout his ‘claiming’ of Marth. The man scratched the back of his head. “You didn’t have to do that shit, y’know?”

“What do you mean?” Marth asked. He was wearing Joe’s poncho, eating some of their rations. They would soon begin the trek back to the Halidom, and each man planned to carry a youth on his back. So they needed to rest a little before then.

“I mean—you got _fucked_ by that bastard, Prince Marth!” The man said exasperated. “You bet on something insane and let yourself get so—so tainted, for people like us! It’s just so fucking unfair.” Joe gripped his bow so hard it shook in his hand. “I could’ve helped, but I was so weak, and—”

Marth shook his head, held up a hand. “If you had been in my shoes, would you have done the same for us?”

Immediately, Joe answered. “Of course! Of course, I would’ve. But that’s—”

“That’s all there is to it.” Marth smiled tiredly. “I gave myself so that I could buy us a way out. It wasn’t _good_ —” no, the terrible rush he had felt had not been good at all. “—but to know that all of you are alright makes it worth it.” He looked down at Lowen, who lay with Ezelith, face no longer contorted with pain.

“To know that we can all still be together makes it worth it.”

Joe bit his lip, choked out a salute. “M-My Prince…!”

“Euden’s the Prince here.” Marth held his hand. “You and I are equals, fighting for the peace of Alberia. Right?”

But Joe couldn’t help himself, and kept on apologizing over and over.

Marth sat with him, comforted him, sat tall in his own pain like a King should. And let a content breath exit his nose.

Knowing they are safe made it all worth it.


End file.
